We stared at the screen for a good five minutes, before she said, "Look, it's not a big deal. You don't have to have been into me as long as I've been into you."
She squeezed her eyes shut and her hands turned into fists, evidently wishing she had picked different words.
"Open your eyes, Stace," I implored her, and she did, one at a time. "You're wrong, about me not liking you all this time," I said, taking a deep breath before I started typing.
I brought up the dreaded website, proof that she deserved better than me. Proof that I was indeed obsessed with her and always had been. It was affectionately dubbed Scott Brady Sucks.
"What is this?" she asked, with a blank look on her face.
"After our first year at NYU, Kenny thought it would be a brilliant prank to gather all my exes in one place to bitch about me. It's been going on ever since. Want to see what they have had to say over the years?" I asked, moving away from the mouse so that she could have full control.
"Do I want to read about how you fucked fifty other women? No," she said, outraged, pushing her chair away from the computer.
I chuckled, grabbed her chair and pulled her back to the desk.
"Don't be an idiot. I haven't fucked fifty women. Do you really think that's my number?" I asked, surprised at her.
Then something else clicked in my head.
"You don't believe me when I say I didn't enjoy sex before we started doing it. Do you?" I asked and she tilted her head to the side, looking this way and that, confirming it.
She clicked on a thread and started reading.
Wendy848: Scott Brady is a sex god. Too bad he didn't stick it to me more.
Reese948: He was the best I've ever had.
Penelope749: He knew how to make my body sing.
Then she turned back to me, as though she'd just proven something.
"I said I didn't enjoy it. I never said I wasn't good at it," I said with a smirk. "My number's not as high as you think, Stace."
"Sixty girlfriends later, you want me to believe you didn't fuck every last one?" she asked, almost daring me to say she was wrong.
"Wow. That number keeps going up. Firstly, try twenty something girlfriends. I guess. Secondly, I'm not a manwhore, which is apparently news to you. Only a select few made it into my bed and that too, through trickery. My body count is," I pulled her close and whispered a number into her ear.
Her eyes exploded out of her skull.
"That's not true," she said, looking at me like she couldn't believe her ears. "Oh my God. You're not a manwhore. I don't understand. How do you know everything you know?"
"There's less pressure when you're not in it for your own pleasure, oddly enough. Means you can focus all your attention on her and what she wants. It's not rocket science. You just have to spend some time getting to know what she likes. Take you, for instance. You want someone to look past your girl next door vibe and fuck you into next Tuesday. Most of the time. Every once in a while though, you want to be treated like a princess instead of a whore," I said nonchalantly.
She looked at me with her mouth gaping wide open, stunned.
"Also, it's very clear you haven't been getting what you want for the last seven years," I said, locking eyes with her, feeling mischievous. "I mean before me of course. That's why I can't keep you off my—"
"So what did you want to show me then?" she asked, turning away from me to face the computer.
I chuckled, thinking her skin might never return back to its normal color.
"Of course you picked that thread. You think everything's about sex. Pick literally any other thread," I said, watching her with folded arms, hoping I didn't regret this.
"Everything is about sex when you're thinking of your boyfriend's exes," she said and my pulse sped up.
She'd never called me her boyfriend before. It was probably just a slip on her part because she was drunk. We hadn't talked about labels for our relationship in months. All the same, I knew now wasn't the time for that conversation. Just in case it didn't go my way, I let the moment pass.
She chose birthdays.
"Starting out strong," I said, getting up to pace behind her as she started reading.
Beatrice648: On my 21st birthday, he took me out shopping — for a care package for Stacy. He said she had just broken up with a boyfriend and needed him to drop by. He spent the rest of the day with her.
"No. You didn't do that," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.
"Keep going," I said, rubbing my hands together as I continued to pace.
Ella758: On my 22nd birthday, he dumped me right before I was supposed to write my last exam because he said he needed more time to hang out with Stacy. She was going through a hard time.
"What the fuck?" she said, turning around to confirm with me.
"In my defense, you had broken your leg the day before. You needed constant help getting places and Ella was so needy," I said, and even as I did, I knew it sounded bad.
"Wow. Okay, I guess," she said, bewildered.
That didn't stop her from continuing though.
Phoebe839: On my 22nd birthday, he went out to get champagne and never came back. Like ever. I ran into him two weeks later at the supermarket. He told me he forgot to come back because while he was out, Stacy sent him on a tampon run. He spent the night with her because she had really bad cramps. When I said define spent the night with her, he said he ran her a bubble bath, then massaged her aching muscles until she fell asleep. In his arms. In nothing but his shirt and her panties. When I said we're breaking up, he said he thought we already had.
"I do have really bad cramps but oh my fuck. You're a horrible person and I'm a homewrecker," she said with a gasp.
"That one, in hindsight, is really bad. Maybe try a different category," I said, my anxiety increasing.
She chose meet the parents. Shit.
"You know what, I think we should take a break," I said, covering the hand she had on the mouse with mine.
"No chance," she said and we wrestled for the mouse.
Somehow, she managed to read one anyway.
Amanda134: I took him to my brother's wedding and even got him a job as the photographer. I was going to introduce him to my parents. He broke up with me during the ceremony. Later at the reception, when I asked why he did that, utterly mortified—
"Oh no. I see where this is going," said Stacy, covering her face and reading through the gaps between her fingers.
Amanda134: — he said that he needed to save time by breaking up with me during the ceremony so that he could get home before Stacy did, as she had just lost her job. I thought we were on the verge of getting engaged.
"Well that one's at least a little on her? You only dated for three months," said Stacy, looking at me with a grimace.
"Okay, I think I've made my point," I said, now biting my fingernails. "Try clicking on Scott and Stacy."
When she clicked on this thread, she was presented with a timer.
"3679214 minutes. That's—" I began, but she did the math.
"Roughly seven years," she said, and our eyes met.
"This is the only thing I don't want to kill Kenny for on this website. They took bets about when we would get together. That's all the time I took to get a clue. Kenny stopped the timer when we kissed for the first time because he said he
knew I'd never look at anyone else the way I looked at you that day," I said, trying to do damage control.